


The Dark Trio

by wonderfulWonderful505



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Dark Golden Trio, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Dark Ron Weasley, Dolores Umbridge Being an Asshole, F/M, Familiars, Good Severus Snape, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, He's so confused though, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Politics, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), letter writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderfulWonderful505/pseuds/wonderfulWonderful505
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione had been living a double life for the past five years. Then Hedwig is attacked and Harry decides enough is enough. He's going to make his intentions known





	The Dark Trio

**Author's Note:**

> As with all my works, it seems, this began with Severus. This idea was just running around my head while I was thinking of ways to destroy Ron and Hermione in Lord Thanatos and I just had to get the first chapter down. I don't know how often/if this will be updated in the future but I really enjoyed writing this chapter and will most likely keep going when I find the time. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this first chapter. Let me know what you think of it?

Harry stormed through the halls of Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione flanking him. Their footsteps echoing loudly against the cold stone floor. The tight hold he always kept on his raging magic slipped and the window they were passing by cracked with the sudden increase in pressure. 

A small hand rested lightly on Harry’s elbow, grounding him as they walked and reminding him in that silent way of theirs, that he was still in Hogwarts, and blowing up a hallway with unrestrained Dark Magic probably wasn’t the best idea. 

Corridors passed them by as they made their way from the staff room on the third floor, down to the dungeons. Harry kept replaying the vicious smirk he had seen on Umbridge’s lips when his precious Hedwig swooped limply into the Great Hall. Her wing marred with her own blood, the bone most likely broken with whatever the pink bitch had used to intercept her. That smirk fuelled his rage and only made him more determined to get Umbridge _ out _ of this school. _ His _ school. 

Harry was never going to forgive this. 

There were a lot of things he had done over the years that could be seen as despicable, or cruel. But Harry Potter would never even _ dare _ to harm another wizards familiar. There was too much power in that bond. Raw, unrestrained power that was neither Dark nor Light. Too sacred even for him to contemplate destroying or tampering with.

Harming another wizard’s familiar caused harm to that wizard’s very soul. The connection between wizard and familiar, when broken, was very capable of destroying the minds of both parties and condemning them both to lives no better than those exposed to the Dementor’s Kiss. Umbridge had been playing a very dangerous game with Harry these past few months and she was about to find out exactly why that was a _ very _ stupid idea indeed.

“I’ve had enough,” he snarled as the portrait covered walls turned to fiery braziers and dark stone around them. The cool October air dampening from the water seeped walls. “This is the last straw and she will be out of here by the end of the week at the latest.” 

He saw both Ron and Hermione nod once at his sides, remaining silent for what was bound to be one of his epic rants. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to get this angry after all. 

“You know I saw a Hufflepuff first year leaving her office the other day?” he asked and heard Hermione growl low in her chest. The girl, while completely vicious and ruthless to almost anyone, had always had a soft spot for the first years. 

“A first year?” Ron asked and Harry let his magic flare dangerously around him. 

His turse ‘yes’ was met by a horrified pair of blue eyes. 

“Can you think of anything less threatening than a Hufflepuff first year? Because I can’t. That vicious toad thinks just because she’s sleeping in Fudge’s bed that she can get away with anything. That she’s the most dangerous person gracing these halls. Well,” a vindictive glint shone brightly in Harry’s eyes as a smirk crossed his previously pinched face, “we’ll have to show her just what dangerous is, won’t we?” 

* * *

The wider Wizarding World knew the ‘Golden Trio’ to be the epitome of Light magic and the embodiment of all things ‘good’. They had been branded, by the destiny hanging ominously over Harry’s head, as heros. Their ‘adventures’ at the end of every year were a secret that, naturally, everyone knew. Long anticipated, spoken of and speculated about for weeks on end. 

The muggleborn, the blood traitor and the Boy-Who-Lived.

They were revered when they saved someone, ridiculed when they took a stand slightly more unconventional than the usual, and scorned for things they had no control over (such as their parents and gifts once considered god-like in their nature). They had been treated unfairly their whole lives. Neglected in their homes and outcast in their schools. They were angry, bitter and jaded with the world and no amount of twinkling kindness would be able to change that. 

The ‘Golden Trio’ had long since lost the right to be declared ‘Light’ or ‘good’ or ‘Golden’. Practicing magics long since banned in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts tended to do that to people. 

Harry had entered Hogwarts with a hidden compartment of his trunk filled with the results of a fruitful stroll down Knockturn Alley. Darkness already tinging his aura, turning the grey of all children charcoal with his experimentation. He knew manipulation when he saw it, was a master in his childhood home, and realised quite quickly what the Headmaster was up to. The Headmaster needed a hero. A saviour of the people. A young figurehead ready and willing to publicly thank him for training and guiding him on the path to victory. So Harry had followed the Headmaster’s plan but planned himself along the way. He was sorted into Gryffindor, played the little Light hero, let the public see what they wanted. See the pawn controlled so completely by the leader of the Light. 

But, in the shelter of his heavily warded four-poster bed, or in the Chamber hidden far beneath the school, Harry practiced what he loved. Spells and rituals cloaked so heavily in darkness he could barely breathe. Parselmagic learned from a thousand year old snake and a fifty year old sixth year Slytherin. Potions learned by careful observation of the youngest Potions Master in recent history and the thorough investigation and research of ingredients and their reactions. 

He celebrated wizarding holidays, drawing power from the earth and giving thanks to Mother Magic for the gifts she bestowed upon him. He knew every law, every bill passed through the Wizengamot, waiting in anticipation for his chance to join the prestigious, ruthless elite. He was cold. Bitter. Sarcastic. So completely resistant to the touch of any but Ron, Hermione and the serpents that had looked after him wherever he went. He held his friends’ loyalty unquestionably and would do all he could to see that they could practice what they too loved freely. He was a leader, but nothing like the leader Albus Dumbledore wanted him to be. He was Dark. 

Ron had entered Hogwarts the sixth son of the Weasley family. Constantly overlooked by his multitude of brothers and the daughter his mother had always wanted, destined to never outshine them all. He was angry. He wanted to be something _ more _ than just the youngest Weasley boy. He wanted freedom from his family’s tarnished name. 

Then on the Hogwarts Express, he met a scarred little boy with a snake coiled tightly around his wrist and a snowy owl perched neatly on his shoulder, who didn’t see his hand-me-down robes or his battered wand, but a friend. Someone to share chocolate frogs, anxieties and childhood traumas with and someone who would defend him at every turn. He accepted the hissed conversation he had no way of ever understanding, the haunted green eyes that shone brighter the further from London they travelled and the dangerous smirk that taunted the edge of his new friend’s face. He met the Boy-Who-Lived, who was nothing like anyone had expected, and Ron was finally free. 

He was sorted into Gryffindor, living up to his family’s stereotype, then delved into subjects his brothers would never think of discovering. Hiding in plain sight. Books were smuggled discreetly across neighbouring beds, two boys just learning nothing is what it seems and everything can be changed to your advantage if you work hard enough. Ron let the world think he was useless, let them underestimate his power, his loyalty to his leader and his ability to strategise. Dumbledore and Voldemort were, after all, playing the largest, most destructive game of chess Wizarding Britain had ever seen but Ron intended to win it. To change the rules. To lie and deceive until the time was right and he was standing over the two fallen Kings with his true friends and hope for a freer world in his heart. Ron was Dark. 

Hermione had entered Hogwarts with a spring in her step and hope in her eyes. The thought she might finally fit in somewhere, finally have friends, fuelling her every action, helping her to ignore the derogatory comments and sneers in her direction each day. The Headmaster had introduced her to this wonderful new world, a world where she could be something other than the bushy haired know-it-all whose parents never had time unless it was an emergency. He had told her of the great Boy-Who-Lived and the fight against darkness and requested her brilliance in helping him. So, she went into Gryffindor, to find her bravery in the den of Lions and instead she was mocked. Once again only seen for the size of her intelligence. Once again alone.

Then, she was attacked by a troll and the hero of Wizarding Britain used a very dark Grey spell to blind the beast before his best friend knocked it out, and suddenly she was intrigued. She read everything she possibly could. Became fascinated with the idea of whole branches of magic that the Hogwarts curriculum _ didn’t even mention _ . She became an expert in all things obscure. Mind Magics. Soul Magics. Blood Magics. Necromancy. Spell Creation. She never once refused to teach her friends (because you can’t fight a 12 foot mountain troll together and not come out friends) and together they studied the arts most thought lost to the world. Created new, exciting, _ deadly _ things Albus Dumbledore would never approve of. 

She had discovered the horcrux residing in her best friend’s scar and vowed to never let old men who thought they knew what was best for the world gain control over him. She saw his power, the influence he would hold some day and she saw his utter devotion to them. He would never be a Dark Lord. Never have a following, because three was all that was needed. Seven may be the most powerful magical number, but three was a very close second. She was as Dark as her friends and the world was about to find out just how deep that darkness ran.

They were very much, in fact, the Dark Trio. 

* * *

Harry stopped before the dark wood door in the heart of the dungeons. His breathing heavy, the scent of ozone crackling in the air with his magic. It was time to change the game. Time to show the world just who they were dealing with. Just who they were calling an insane attention seeking little brat. 

He had had enough. He and his friends had been waiting too long. It was time. 

He knocked twice sharply. 

There was silence for a moment then the door swung open with a gust of musty dungeon air revealing the sallow face of Hogwarts’ most hated professor (because Umbridge was not, and would never be, seen as a Professor, despite what label the Ministry granted her position). He sneered at them, crooked nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of them and demanded; “What do you want?”

Harry heard Ron sigh behind him. He was already in a dangerous enough mood and so, it seemed, was Snape. Ron was likely anxious about the current length of Harry’s fuse. He didn’t blame him. 

“If we could come in please, Professor,” Harry spoke with such strain he knew Snape could tell it was paining him to be polite. It would likely not endear him to the man but Harry didn’t much care. Nothing in the world could endear Harry Potter to Severus Snape. The world would likely implode if it did.

Snape sighed dramatically, exasperation clear in his body language and stepped back from the opening into his office. “If you must,” he snarled. 

Harry, Hermione and Ron walked calmly into the office. Harry sat before the meticulously organised desk while Hermione and Ron stood protectively behind him. A nod once in Hermione’s direction as Snape made his way to take a seat behind his desk, had the girl casting the strongest privacy wards she knew. It likely would have been safer if Harry himself cast them, he was nearing Master level in warding after all, but needs must, and it was more convenient to let Hermione show off. 

Snape’s eyebrows rose at the silent warding of his office and, if Harry was any less incensed he might have laughed. He took a deep breath, steadying his volatile magic as he did and prepared himself for a long, probably unpleasant, talk. 

“What do you want, Potter?” the potion’s master snarled, evidently finished waiting for Harry to collect himself. He sent the man a glare, a commonplace aspect of their tumultuous relationship, and cleared his throat. 

“There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you, sir,” he started, readying himself for rant number two of the day. “The first being your blatant mistreatment of the students present in this room.” 

Snape’s glare was mutinous now but Harry raised a hand to stop his eventual outburst. 

“Look,” he said, standing from his seat in order to pace before the professor’s desk, “I get that you hate me because of my physical likeness to my father. And, I understand that you have to act a certain way to allow the Baby Death Eaters to report back home that you’re still the Light-hating git you’ve always been, despite my presence here and your relationship to my mother.” 

He looked briefly at Snape to gauge his reaction and was pleased to note the potions master was now completely shocked, sitting back in his seat staring at Harry like he’d never seen him before. 

“But,” he began pacing again, taking his eyes off Snape to glance around the room instead, “that will never excuse the complete lack of respect you have for Hermione’s intelligence, the vastly unprofessional amount of personal insults you’ve directed towards Ron and the, I can only assume, deliberate obliviousness you’ve directed towards me and the abuse I have suffered throughout my life. I have spoken to Theodore Nott, sir, he said it took you three weeks in first year to figure out his father was abusing him and only another month to make sure he never had to go back.” 

Harry stopped in front of the desk, turning to face the professor who prided himself on ensuring the children he taught _ never _ had to go through the things he went through himself as a child. The professor who taught Harry’s favourite subject but managed to make him dread coming to class. The professor who should have been the one to save him, teach him, be there to stop him should he and his friends go so far off the deep end of Dark Magic they could never come back. The professor who had failed him time and time again but who Harry still held a grudging respect for. One that would likely never leave, even if the man stabbed him in the back for Light. 

Snape’s face was set in a sneer, a defence mechanism that Harry recognised, Draco Malfoy used it as well. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his hands on his immaculate desk and looked straight into Harry’s eyes. 

“You, Potter, are so very much like your father,” he spat. “Always reaching for something that will garner you sympathy. How _ dare _ you disrespect Mr Nott by likening his traumatic home situation with you not getting exactly what you want from your blasted relatives. Just because you’re told ‘no’ every now and then does _ not _ make you a victim of the very serious crime of child abuse.” 

Harry held up a hand to halt the cries of absolute outrage from his friends behind him. He should have known Snape would be too blinded by his hatred of James Potter and Dumbledore’s pretty words. Oh well. He had more important things to discuss than the Dursleys and their lack of human decency. 

“It’s just something to think about, professor,” he said and sat back down again. “As of now there are more important things to discuss.” 

He took a deep breath. Snape had to believe this or Harry would soon be beating Tom Riddle’s record of youngest student to commit murder on Hogwarts grounds. 

“Do you know, sir, what Umbridge is making the students do in her detentions?” 

Snape looked perplexed for a moment. Likely wondering why on earth Harry was coming to _ him _ of all people about the pink monstrosity. 

“No, Potter,” he said, failing to hide the hint of curiosity in his voice at the reason behind this seemingly random question, “I don’t make a habit of swapping notes with Umbridge, despite what the greater student populous may believe.” 

Ron snickered behind him and Harry would have joined if not for the seriousness of this discussion. 

“This, sir,” he said lifting his left hand towards the professor raised, blood red words in his own scratchy handwriting stark against his tanned skin. “This is what she’s making us do in detention.” 

Snape snatched Harry’s hand out of the air between them, examining the wounds carefully, his eyes wide. Clearly he knew what manner of object created such wounds and the possible effects it would have on the students of Hogwarts. 

“You’ve had detention with Umbridge over twenty times already this year, Potter, was it the same every time?” Snape’s voice sounded strained. Like he couldn’t believe he was sitting there, about to help an abused Harry Potter, about to sympathise with the child he just accused of not understanding the gravity of abuse. 

“Yes, sir, every time.” He stared straight into the professor’s eyes, willing him to see the truth in Harry’s words. “Each detention is over two hours long, I’ll be struggling to make it up to Gryffindor tower from the blood loss. We’ve got a stash of blood replenishing potions and Murtlap Essence in the Common Room because I’m not the only one. She’s targeting students with no connections to the magical world, muggleborns, halfbloods of low standing families, no Slytherins and no Prefects. Only students who would openly support Dumbledore and the Boy-Who-Lived if the opportunity arose.” 

Snape nodded his head and drew his wand. He cast a localised diagnostic charm on Harry’s hand and, once he was satisfied Harry was adequately tending to his wound, released the hand and stood from behind the desk. 

“I will have to speak to Minerva about this,” he said, looking vaguely like he wanted to kick the trio out but unsure as to whether Harry had finished his discussion. 

“Talk to Professors Sprout and Flitwick as well, sir, I saw a first year Hufflepuff coming out of her office in tears the other day. It’s all three houses.” Snape nodded once again and this time Harry stood from his seat. 

He placed a letter, addressed in green ink on the desk before him and looked once more into the potion master’s eyes. “This letter is of the utmost importance professor and, as Hedwig was so brutishly attacked this morning, I ask you to deliver it for me.” 

Snape looked down at the letter, no doubt noticing the address was completely illegible. Like the green squiggly lines of a toddler pretending to write. He looked up in confusion. “Who is it for, Potter? I will not be your replacement owl to the mutt and the wolf.” 

Harry chuckled, smirking slightly. “It’s written in Parselscript, professor. He’ll know what it says.” 

With Hermione and Ron trailing behind him, Harry strode out of Professor Snape’s office, leaving the dark man some privacy to get his completely bewildered expression under control. There was no doubt Snape would be calling Harry back to his office sometime in the near future to discuss the matter. To find out whether Harry had a death wish or was attempting to stop this war through diplomacy, an act Harry imagined Snape thought was utterly stupid.

He could feel the anticipation rippling off Ron and Hermione beside him at the path he’d just opened for the three of them. He smirked to himself as they stalked up to Gryffindor tower, faces contrary to the friendly, open facades they had been wearing for almost five years now. The Dark Trio was about to reveal themselves and the world wouldn’t know what hit it. 

* * *

The Dark Lord sat regally on his high-backed throne as his potions master walked quickly into the room. It was odd for the man to be here at such a time. Dumbledore had very strict restrictions about where he was allowed to go during the school term and, evidently, spying on a Dark Lord didn’t take precedence over the old man keeping control of the most successful potions master in a _ very _ long time. Dumbledore was trying very hard to ensure Severus saw the Dark Lord as little as possible. He hoped it meant his spy was leaning back towards the Dark. 

Severus Snape knelt before the dais murmuring a ‘my Lord’ and generally grovelling at the Dark Lord’s feet. While he enjoyed seeing such powerful and influential members of Wizarding society subservient to a nameless half-blood like himself, since his resurrection, Lord Voldemort had been becoming impatient. The endless bowing and scraping of his followers took too long for it to seem necessary any more. He was deriving little joy from it either. 

The trembling, blinding fear of his followers was also becoming a problem. He needed people to make plans with him. To let him know if he had overlooked anything or was making another tragic mistake, but he had managed to surround himself with people who would wet themselves in fear if he asked for their opinion. It was clear that something wasn’t working in the way he was running things.

He needed a new plan. 

“Rise, Severus,” he said and the only Death Eater the Dark Lord could currently tolerate stood from the ground. Severus had never been as afraid as the others had. He had endured pain and suffering all his life after all. He was not afraid to look into Lord Voldemort’s eyes and lie to him, so Severus had his respect. “What have you come to see me about,” he said, “I did not call you.” 

Severus bowed his eyes to the floor in submission but his body stayed straight and proud. “No, my Lord. I come baring disturbing news from Hogwarts that I thought garnered your immediate attention and-,” he hesitated and the Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed. Severus never hesitated so this was either very good or very bad news. “And I have a letter addressed to you from Harry Potter.” 

Voldemort starred as Severus extended a hand. A letter addressed in emerald green ink, ‘Lord Voldemort’ written in Parselscript across the front. This was very unusual. The Potter boy was the epitome of Light and ‘good’ in this wretched world. Why on earth would he write a letter to the Dark Lord? And in Parselscript nonetheless? Unless, Voldemort pondered, he was asking for permission to bow out of the fight. To surrender before he inevitably died at the end of Lord Voldemort’s wand. 

“What is this disturbing news?” he asked as he took the letter from his spy’s hand and ran a scan for any hostile magics on the parchment. Nothing came up. 

“My Lord,” Severus started his expression wary when Voldemort looked back up. “It’s about Dolores Umbridge.” 

Voldemort rose a hairless eyebrow at that. He had heard some interesting things about the pink Ministry worker pantomiming as a Professor. Apparently she was not too fond of children and entirely too fond of Fudge. 

“This morning Potter’s owl came into the Great Hall injured. From his reaction and what I heard from Minerva later, it is his familiar and the attacker was undoubtedly Madame Umbridge.” 

“She attacked his familiar?” Voldemort asked. He was dumbstruck. No matter how much he hated Dumbledore, Voldemort would never have thought about attacking Fawkes. There were some things that just weren’t done in the Wizarding World and attacking familiars was one of them. Familiars were the most sacred of creatures to a wizard and to attack one was the highest of crimes. 

Severus nodded and a fearful glint appeared in his eye as Voldemort’s magic flared. “She has made a very powerful enemy in Potter, then,” he said when he regained his control. “He will have the entire Wizarding World on his side if he decides to press charges against this.” 

“I am aware, my Lord, but I am unsure if he is. Dumbledore has never been exactly forthcoming with information around the boy. I do not know how familiar he is with our laws.” 

Voldemort nodded, thinking. His gaze returned to the letter, still unopened in his hand and his curiosity about its contents spiked. Maybe there was something more to Potter than what there seemed. 

“There is something else, my Lord.” Severus said, pulling his attention away from Potter’s elegant scribble of the snake language. “She has been handing out an alarming number of detentions this year and, this morning I was finally told what has been occurring in them.” 

Severus was nervous. Voldemort could see him bracing himself against an incoming attack. He obviously assumed Voldemort’s reaction to this information would be volatile. That did not bode well for the toad woman. He had left her alone at Hogwarts purely because she was distracting Dumbledore with her meddling. If she was a danger to the students, however, she would need to be dealt with. Voldemort needed the younger generation, after all. There were too few wizards in Britain as it was. 

“She has been using a Blood Quill on the students, my Lord,” Severus said and Voldemort’s magic exploded around him, shattering the windows lining the wall behind him. “There were over 100 students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff who have been found with what will probably be permanent scarring on their hands,” Severus continued but Voldemort was only half listening. Instead he was imagining all the brutally horrific conditions he could leave the Umbridge woman in when he deposited her body on the Ministry’s doorstep. She was a truly despicable woman. Attacking both familiars and children like a completely soulless barbarian. How she got herself Fudge’s favour was beyond him. 

“We will be eliminating her, then, Severus,” he said finally, his head swimming with all the possibilities for Umbridge’s destruction. “I shall call on you later this week once I have determined the most… advantageous plan.” The smirk he shot the potion’s master would have made a lesser man tremble. But Severus, he just shot the Dark Lord an equally vicious smirk back at his Lord and Master. A promise to take pleasure in whatever method of extermination Umbridge would be subject to. 

He turned back to the letter in his hands, flipped it over and opened the seal at the back. He would see what the Potter boy had to say before he sent Severus on his way. There was a chance a reply would be warranted and he would rather send it securely with the brat’s professor. 

Two heavy sheets of parchment adorned with the same emerald green ink emerged from the envelope along with something that made the Dark Lord’s blood run cold. A large golden locket, emerald gems encrusting the swirling ‘s’ atop its face. A locket he hadn’t seen in many years that was supposed to be residing in a cave off the coast of England in a bowl of poisonous potion surrounded by a lake of inferi. How Potter had got his hands on his third horcrux he didn’t know and the boy better have explained it or there was no chance he would see his sixteenth birthday. 

Voldemort clutched the locked tightly in his hand, reminding himself to breathe, and turned to the letter. It was written in Parselscript as well and was covered in spells to assure there was no tampering and make sure only the Dark Lord would ever read it.

_ Lord Voldemort, _

_ My name is Harrison James Potter-Black and I am fifteen years old. I know you might be wondering why I am introducing myself to you but, despite the many encounters we have had over the years, I have never had the opportunity and I thought I would take it. _

_ For the first year and a half of my life I lived with my parents, James and Lily Potter within a house in Godric’s Hollow before I was targeted by the Dark Lord Voldemort as a threat to his life and power. On October 31st 1981 my parents were killed, I was shot with the Killing Curse and my life turned to absolute shit. _

_ My Godfather was wrongly imprisoned for the death of 12 muggles and the betrayal of my family, his partner condemned within Britain for suffering from Lycanthropy. All my other magical relatives were long deceased, so Albus Dumbledore took control over my life. On the night of November 1st 1981 he placed me on the doorstep of Lily Potter’s sister’s home and left me at the mercy of magic-hating muggles for the next ten years. _

_ My bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, I was unaware of my name until I was enrolled in primary school at the age of four, I cooked every meal for the Dursley’s, cleaned their house, maintained their garden and just generally did everything they asked me to do. I was beaten for misdeeds (especially instances of accidental magic), never given a kind word or touch and generally hated for daring to have myself thrust into the ‘care’ of the very _ normal _ Dursley family. _

_ Then, a week before my 11th Birthday, I received a letter addressed to my Cupboard informing me I had a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The letter was taken and burned before I could read the entirety, I was moved to my cousin’s second bedroom then more letters continued to arrive. My Uncle went berserk and we traveled across the country followed by the letters until we settled in a hut off the coast the night of July 3oth. _

_ In the early hours of the next morning I was introduced to the Hogwarts game-keeper Hagrid and journeyed to Diagon Alley for my school supplies. I learned I was a wizard, my parents were war heros and I was regarded as the Saviour of the Wizarding World. I learned I had a vault in Gringotts (with more to be released upon my maturation into adulthood), a magical education ahead of me and a Headmaster who was not only my legal magical guardian but was determined to make me into the ‘hero’ the world saw me as. I was the epitome of Light, according to Hagrid, so the next day I snuck down Knockturn Alley. _

_ I entered Hogwarts with a secret compartment in my trunk dedicated to the exploration of magic not taught at Dumbledore’s school and the knowledge that, to stay under the radar, I had to follow everyone’s expectations. The Hat said I would be ‘great’ in Slytherin and, if I’m honest, I agree. But, the twinkling eyes of the esteemed Albus Dumbledore and the prejudice of Wizarding Britain led me to the House of my ancestor. I made two like-minded friends early on and taught them all I knew. _

_ Dumbledore was watching closely when we stood before the Mirror of Erised in my first year, and you were more unstable than I had predicted, so I played the Golden Boy part convincingly and gained more of Dumbledore’s trust. (I do have to apologise, though, that I could not warn you the stone was a fake.) _

_ I found your Diary the next year and Eris (my snake) and I found the chamber during the Yule break. I had finally found a more secure place to practice magic without Dumbledore’s watchful eye but I needed to deal with your memory before it would ever be safe to do so. Hermione and I discovered your secret that year; your means to immortality. We discovered so much more than that as well and I had no intentions of allowing Dumbledore to figure it out. So, I kept quiet until the Diary took Ginny Weasley into the Chamber and I had no choice but to follow. It was the ‘Golden Boy’ thing to do and I _ had _ to keep Hogwarts open. There was no way I was spending the rest of my non-emancipated life with the Dursleys, so I went after her. _

_ We are so very much alike, you know. It’s like we were moulded from the same mound of clay, forged in the same fire. The night you heard the Prophecy we were linked inexplicably together for the rest of our lives and the night you came to kill me only solidified that. _

_ Because you disregard the might of a Mother’s need to protect her child, the love a Mother feels for that child even when it puts her own life at risk, you doomed yourself to be bound to this Earth by _ me _ . That night you made me your Horcrux and so, when I was down in the chamber, facing a Basilisk and a fifty year old sixth year Slytherin, I told them my secret. We came to a deal and I left Tom and Akaisa in the Chamber and carried Ginny and a black book covered in Lord Voldemort’s magical signature up to Dumbledore. _

_ He has suspicions about your Horcruxes, and that I am among those things needed to keep you alive. I can see it in his eyes, in the way they gleam every time I ‘thwart’ one of your plans. He has no intention of allowing me to survive this war and I do not want to die. There is a certain magic within this Horcrux in my scar that Hermione has determined will allow me to live as long as you do. I will be preserved at optimum strength for as long as you wish to live and I find that a far more agreeable future than death before the age of 17. _

_ This leads me to the crux of this letter; I am not your enemy. _

_ I have ideals. I have goals for myself and our world. I have the Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor and Black seats and any influence Dumbledore has so _ selflessly _ granted me as the Boy-Who-Lived to use to achieve these goals. _

_ If you are agreeable, if you adhere to my terms, I am offering you an alliance. A partnership between the Lord of Slytherin and the Lord of Gryffindor that could very well change this world for the better. I don’t know exactly what it is you want. I do know that, because I gave you my blood _ willingly _ within your resurrection ritual, you will feel more in control of your mind than you have in many years and that may be the reason you are lying low while Dumbledore ruins his standing with the Ministry on his own. I hope that this incident has opened your eyes to the fragility of your mind and made you think about the way you have conducted your British take-over thus far. It is, however, not enough for me to trust that you will make the best decisions in the future. _

_ You will not like what I am about to ask of you; I will prepare you now. You will feel as if I will be attempting to limit your power or weaken you to the point where I can swoop in and gallantly save the world from the evil Dark Lord. I am, however, attempting to strengthen you. To allow you to work at optimum efficiency and skill level. For, when you make a Horcrux, it does not just destabilise your soul, but your entire body and mind and magic as well. _

_ I ask, if you wish to work with me, that you absorb at least the locket Horcrux I retrieved from the ancestral home of the House of Black this past summer. I do not know how it ended up there, but I extracted it before Dumbledore or any of his supporters could find it. I have discussed this matter at length with your sixteen year old self and we have determined that, to remain in your immortal and therefore secure state while also retaining your brilliance and sanity, you must reabsorb the Diary, the ring and the locket horcruxes. It will leave you with three horcruxes and, while seven has a great amount of power, three is just good. Just… think about it. _

_ I have no doubt there are many things you wish to discuss with me, as there are many I wish to discuss with you. As you have no doubt heard, however, owl post has been compromised within Hogwarts at the moment, when it is addressed to me especially, so we will have to arrange a time to meet in person at a later date. I am returning to my Godfather’s home for the Yule break this year and imagine that will be the best time to arrange something. _

_ Anything important you wish to convey to me, do it through Professor Snape (If you could refer to him as a message boy at all I would be greatly amused). He, while appearing loyal to both the Light and the Dark and their respective Lords, swore a blood oath upon the death of my dear Mother to always protect me. Whatever side I am on, in the end, will be the side Severus Snape serves. _

_ I look forward to a prosperous relationship between us, Lord Voldemort. We could be everything Wizarding Britain needs, and everything Albus Dumbledore does not want us to be. _  


_ Kind regards, _

_ Harrison James Potter-Black _

_ Lord Potter _

_ Lord Peverell _

_ Lord Gryffindor _

_ Heir Black _

Voldemort looked up from the pages of green ink, locket still clutched tightly in his hand, and laughed. A loud, joyous laugh with no underlying hiss to demonise the action. This was not at all what he had been expecting from Harry Potter but it was more than acceptable. If what the boy said was true, he had just handed the war to the Dark side on a silver platter. Voldemort would have been led to destroy himself if this child had not seen past Dumbledore’s manipulations and figured out what he could not. He would not kill the boy and he definitely would not alienate him when such an advantageous offer was on the table. He would research, then adhere to the boy’s wishes and meet with him over Yule.

This could be a great partnership indeed.

Voldemort looked towards his patiently waiting subordinate and smiled a serpentine smile. “Things are about to change Severus,” he said, staring into the potion master’s black eyes. “And you will be fulfilling your blood oath to protect Harrison Potter above anything else I have asked of you this year.” 

Severus’ face paled before him and the Dark Lord stood from his seat heading towards the dark man. “Go back to your students now, Severus. Don’t let the old man know you were here and do anything possible to keep the Potter boy from more harm. I will know if you fail.” 

He watched Severus Snape bow low before him and all but run out the door to return to Hogwarts. He looked down at the parchment still held in his hands and chuckled. Yes, he thought, things really were about to change. 


End file.
